


Carved in Silk

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Character Study, Collars, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Creampie, Cute Immortal Husbands, Deepthroating, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, Filthy, M/M, Making Out, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Smut, Top Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Werewolf Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: "In hindsight," Joe says as they unlace their shoes just inside the door, "we should have sprung for a central heating system. I'll go find the electric heaters," and he's already moving about the place in socked feet. Nicky watches him walk away and wants to nibble at his ankle bones poking out through the fabric.Instead, he blinks and asks, "Do we have electricity?"
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 36
Kudos: 306





	Carved in Silk

**Author's Note:**

> Technically set in/inspired by [2manyboys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2manyboys/pseuds/2manyboys)'s [Werewolf!Nicky AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941382), but, realistically, I'm pretty sure this can stand on its own.

The sky is shadowy-grey, but Joe keeps his face mostly turned to the side, silently looking out the window at the passing hills and mountains, for which Nicky is glad.

As it is, his attention is shot, his focus for the forty-minute train ride has been entirely on the long line of Joe's throat as he extends it to track a herd of sheep or a winding stream or a particularly fluffy dog trailing their train in a flurry of excited barks. His scarf is loose around his neck and his curls are slightly frizzy from the humid weather and his thighs stretch the denim until the colour fades a little across them, greying out the dark—and all Nicky can think about is dropping to his knees between his splayed legs to mouth at the bulge there, even soft as it is. He'd be content just with faint traces of Joe through his jeans and underwear. Maybe get him hard and leaking enough to wet the front for him to press his tongue there and search out his taste. And his scent _alone_ —

It's been a long journey to this part of the continent. Too many smells. Too much movement. Not enough touch. As disquieted as the wolf is by the rapid changes as they switched from plane to car to train, the endless crowds, Nicky has to admit the rest of him is craving any point of contact just as badly. He grazes the edge of his knee to Joe's, who doesn't react in any way other than to leave their legs touching, seemingly distracted by the view.

Their carriage is mostly empty. As far as Nicky is concerned, even apart from Andy's reasoning to demand they remain in solitude from the rest of the world, he's never been particularly keen on being too out in the open, being too seen. It clouds his mind oddly, as if every single person looking his way would fill it with mindless babble given half a chance. It's diametrically opposed to remaining unseen by that one person that's meant to see you all the time. He bristles at the possibility. Joe must hear his thoughts or feel the weight of his stare, for he turns to look his way, _finally_. Smiles softly. Bites his lip briefly, an unconscious gesture. Shifts in his seat, entire body stirring in one subtle wave of movement towards Nicky.

"Almost there," he mutters. Nicky watches his mouth as it makes sound, and doesn't even fucking know what language he said that in, only that his words always hit their mark anyway, so, truly, does it matter whether it's one or the other's mother tongue or the local language or some long-forgotten dialect only the two of them may remember? It never did, between them.

The platform's not much of anything but a slab of cement in a vaguely rectangular shape by the side of the tracks. They basically have to jump onto it from the last metal stair on the side of the train carriage, careful not to land in the wild undergrowth. The drizzle dribbling off the edges of houses and from hanging branches and telephone lines hasn't made significant puddles yet, but it's likely it'll gear up to turn into a respectable thunderstorm soon enough. Both turn their hoods up against it.

At this hour of the morning, only a few passengers alight at this stop, tired commuters returning home from the graveyard shift. On their tired bodies Nicky can smell old sweat and bitter coffee and other people they've had reason to touch throughout their nightly interactions. The rain can't wash it off fast enough.

For their part, he and Joe walk the way to their safe house as if they've never left, familiarity in every step. It comes from years of living here for far longer than any of the other houses they still own that are still standing. When Andy wanted a break, this is where they waited out the first real downtime they had in decades. Malta will always be... Malta. But this, right here, is a place the soles of their feet remember well, where they can return at will for as long as the walls remain up. It helps that the average age of their street is somewhere around seventy. They're remembered but not scrutinised. Someone's grandkid comes down from the city to tend to the yard every month, or so Joe has told him.

They cross the main road, then turn left at the roundabout, the third house on the right standing out from its neighbours with its green gate and speckled outside walls. Joe rang ahead. The lock on the gate was oiled recently, and their keys fit perfectly, as if it's been days rather than just over a year since they were here last. They walk up the steps to the front door of the house, Nicky more than appreciative of the overhanging roof, the rain having picked up exponentially from one minute to the next. Here as well the keys give them no trouble.

From the side, for a long moment, he glances about them, at the expanse of grass leading to a high stone wall opposite the front of the house. Always, when they return, it appears in front of him as a world without them in it, without people of any sort at all. Simply being. Simply existing. Before his eyes, rain barrels down harder into the earth. At his back, Joe opens the door widely.

The smell of damp doesn't hit immediately, which Nicky honestly would have expected, but that might be because there's a heavy draught and, coupled with the chill enveloping them pretty much instantly, signals at least two or three windows are open between all the rooms.

"In hindsight," Joe says as they unlace their shoes just inside the door, "we should have sprung for a central heating system. I'll go find the electric heaters," and he's already moving about the place in socked feet. Nicky watches him walk away and wants to nibble at his ankle bones poking out through the fabric.

Instead, he blinks and asks, "Do we have electricity?"

"Allegedly, we have both electricity _and_ running water," he calls out. As evidenced by the lack of flooding, the pipes don't seem to have burst during the last winter. With a shrug Joe can't see Nicky joins him in his search.

They find the electric heaters, as well as cleaning supplies. They leave the water running for five minutes straight to clear out the plumbing, and, between the two of them, they sweep and mop up both bedrooms on each side of the large entryway, as well as the bathroom and kitchenette. The bedrooms are wood flooring, which Nicky is reasonably sure has swollen in places, but they're easy enough to clean. Besides, the house is old and perpetually cold and humid; whatever they do, decay will always filter in.

Beneath dusty sheets, the furniture is minimal: bed, wardrobe, nightstand. The other bedroom is bare but for a large extendable couch. They're not expecting company, unless it's the uninvited kind.

Closing the windows means they'll need to leave the heaters working pretty much all the time, especially since the rainy season doesn't appear intent on sparing them. But, with the house losing its chill and some of the dust taken away by way of the sheets formerly covering the furniture, it starts feeling less like blocks of concrete they've stumbled between and more like a space they've had reason to call their own before.

By the time they're done cleaning, it's barely early afternoon.

They should probably nap. Travelling all night and barely getting any uninterrupted sleep should translate to utter exhaustion, more so after hours cleaning a dusty, damp house. But the wolf is restless and Joe has sweated through the back of his shirt and the undersides of his arms. They last showered before setting off the previous morning. Nicky wants to lick him all over, and fall asleep after, then wake up with Joe in his arms to do it all over again.

Seemingly, Joe has other plans. "Shower?" His cheeks are flushed, and Nicky says, "Sure," more than a little vaguely.

Dry-mouthed, he watches Joe undress and follows suit without taking his eyes off him. His clothes end up in a pile in one corner of the room, and, while Nicky would like nothing more than to dive in and settle in there, he instead drops his own clothing on top to have them mingle.

They hurry through taking turns showering (Nicky's collar stays on) while the other brushes his teeth as the water is, in fact, freezing. There's only the wood boiler, but neither is willing to go out to the shed to chop wood or go looking for matches and accelerant. When the rain eventually quells enough for a grocery run they can take care of all of that then. In the meantime, they put on clean layers retrieved from their bags and munch on protein bars, shivering as they shuffle their sheet in front of one of the heaters. They warm up to the point where they can walk around the heated part of the house barefoot.

While Nicky finds musty but clean bedding in the wardrobe and sets about making the bed, Joe brings out the electric kettle and clean mugs from a kitchen cabinet and brews them the tea he brought along. They drink it gladly sitting at the edge of the bed, then Nicky cleans up their mugs at the sink in their tiny kitchen.

Once back, he stops by the bedroom door and watches Joe crouching by his own travel bag, rifling energetically until he finds what he's looking for, which turns out to be charcoal and paper. He rises and ambles over to the nightstand to set his supplies aside, a gentle smile playing about his lips, an idle sort of contentment in the lines of his shoulders. The light in the room is grey, but Nicky sees him clearly, recognising easily the familiarity with which Joe is claiming their space. He walks over before he has any plan to do so, and Joe instantly turns around to face him.

They really _should_ nap.

Heat crawls up and down his spine. Licking his lips, he tries to level his breathing, steadies his twitching hands when he reaches for Joe's waist to squeeze at him through his sweater. Digs the pads of his fingers _in_. They're suddenly standing very close.

Joe blinks. Then, "Ah. I see," the vowels lengthening in his mouth as if he's tasting them. His smile is soft, but the things Nicky wants to do to him aren't. And Joe—Joe who knows, Joe who's seen all of him, Joe who chooses him over and over again—always lets him, uncomplicatedly joyful each and every time.

Will let him again, right now, his hands going to the back of his sweater to easily drag it over his head as Nicky's hands leave him to echo his movements a beat later, leaving them both in thin shirts.

Once their mouths meet, Joe closes his own eyes while Nicky watches him through the kiss. His eyelashes are very dark. Nicky wants to lick them, although that would mean not licking inside Joe's mouth anymore, and that is simply unacceptable. Their hips slot together as if they belong that way, and, well, they fucking do, don't they?

He tries not to fuck his tongue too harshly inside Joe's mouth, but that's a losing battle from the onset, Joe's arms clutching at his back, pressing them closer together. Several times Nicky breaks the kiss to catch his breath, but dives back in while Joe's still panting.

Eventually, he leans back, away from Joe's mouth. Tracks his eyes across his face. Can't look away. All he can smell is Joe's skin, his spit, and, faintly, the heat of his body priming for sex. When he opens his eyes, they're all pupil, and the wolf wants to bite him all over.

As his cheeks pink up under Nicky's stare, it's impossible not to notice the bulge poking against Nicky's upper thigh. It makes him _wild_ with a sense of utter triumph at such a small feat, how into it Joe is and keeping pace. Rarely are they not on the same page, but the wolf likes _knowing_.

Joe blinks at him. "Do you want to be good?" he breathes.

Nicky pushes him to the bed and Joe inhales sharply. He nods, and Joe nods back, legs parting.

The first time Nicky ever did this for him he was so eager he was sloppy with it, choking his throat raw, determined to have it before Yusuf changed his mind and pushed him away. Remembers pulling back to mumble encouragement, promising that he'd swallow it all down if Yusuf spilled in his mouth. Most of all, he remembers the praise, the gentle touches at his head, the love in Yusuf's eyes.

Not much has changed.

After hours of being on, the heaters have done as much as they can to remove the chill. Wanting skin badly, Nicky removes his shirt first and watches as Joe unbuttons himself out of his jeans and kicks them off along with his underwear. As Joe's throwing his own shirt off the side of the bed, panting a little with the effort of doing this while effectively being horizontal, Nicky takes the opportunity to knee his way between his legs. He stares unabashedly as Joe's chest rises pleasantly and his nipples pebble a little at the change in temperature. He leans back on his elbows to watch Nicky's approach, his stomach muscles bunching up, hip bones standing out. His cock is already hard, flushed and wet at the tip. Nicky's mouth is already drooling for it, heat coiling low in his gut.

When he sinks his mouth onto him Joe groans needily and opens up his thighs for Nicky's bulk. It takes only a beat for him to fuck up into Nicky's mouth, who moans and licks around the length of him as best he can, palming at the underside of his thighs.

On the next thrust in, his cockhead slides down into the tightness of Nicky's throat, prising his jaw deliciously open. It's the best place for it, practically made to accommodate its width. Letting out a hoarse hiss, Joe sinks both hands into his hair, and Nicky feels dizzy and content so suddenly he fears his chest might expand beyond his body. As it is, his eyes roll up into the back of his head and his cock throbs inside his jeans. He doesn't come from it, but it's a close call.

Disappointingly, Joe doesn't fuck either his throat or his mouth. He lets up after a few seconds and allows Nicky to suck on him measuredly, holding his head steadily. He does lock their eyes and comes shortly thereafter in heavy spurts Nicky swallows down greedily. He pokes his tongue inside the slit until finally Joe pulls at the roots of his hair to chastise him, though he keeps his softening cock pressed to the inside of his cheek.

After, when Nicky's pulled off and has got his head pillowed on the inside of Joe's thigh, he watches him panting, not smiling outright but definitely looking satisfied, and he could leave it at that, pull himself off easily in his own hand or rut against Joe's calf hairs, but.

Having Joe's cock in his mouth and spilling down his throat winds him up like nothing else. Like this, they're _so close_. He licks the patch of skin beneath his mouth, which gets Joe's attention, his eyes on him focused and sharp.

"So good for me. Want more?" he asks, though his right leg is butterflying before Nicky can nod eagerly.

He knows Joe prefers to get face-down and his knees beneath him with Nicky at his back, but the wolf likes it when Joe has to part his legs for him, has to strain a little around the width of his hips, muscles nearly wrenching if Nicky were to shove them apart to make room for himself. He never has to, as such, Joe much too eager to welcome him between them. Like this, he can dive in for another kiss, which turns deep and eager.

When he moves away, Joe's mouth is very red and his skin is burning up all over where Nicky's palming down his chest to his hips. His cock is at half-mast already and he's so fucking primed, smelling of come and sweat and blood pounding beneath skin. He looks used-up and feverish for more, and Nicky wants to eat him right up. Instead, he leaves the bed in a series of quick, efficient movements, practically sprinting to the other side of the room.

The lube is easy to find in the side pocket of one of their bags. He almost rips his jeans in his haste to take them off, and his underwear gets kicked off who knows where. Then Nicky is back on the bed within seconds, crawling back between Joe's open legs, tonguing gently at the back of one knee on the way. Joe's mouth and arms are there to meet him.

Unseeingly, he squirts lube liberally and reaches between Joe's legs for his hole. His hand is shaking, and Joe bites his lip, and when he slips a finger inside he feels Joe inhale sharply. Nicky's eyes are glued to where his finger is working. Watches himself add another. Hears Joe's grunt at the stretch, but also feels him pushing out, wilfully relaxing around the intrusion.

Finally, he pulls his fingers out, Joe's hips bucking into his hand raggedly, gagging to get them back in with an aborted shove back. But Nicky knows what he likes even more than his fingers, and so he lines up his cock, bumping against his hole, and begins to push inside, palms pressed either side of Joe's head where it now lies on the pillow. He should be careful, slow it down, but watching Joe's face slacken as the fat cockhead pops inside he finds himself throwing caution to the wind. It hardly helps that Joe's hips grind against Nicky's to meet him halfway as he bottoms out deliciously quickly.

He wants to take a moment to hold himself still, but Joe's mouth is wet and open, and his hole is twitching around the base of his cock, and the wolf wants wants _wants_. He pulls out only halfway before rocking inside and setting a brutal rhythm for minutes on end.

Soon enough, he feels his arm muscles start shaking. Even though it will mean not being able to watch his cock loosening Joe up, he drops to his elbows, rearing from his thighs and arse to push in harder, nail him a little rougher than before to elicit little keens and groans from the back of Joe's throat, chests gliding together. He doesn't need to see it if he can hear it, and, arms sliding around Nicky's shoulders and head lolling back on the bed to reveal the sweat-drenched line of his throat, Joe doesn't fail to give him even _more_. Because if he isn't keeping his eyes on the way he's sloppily breaching his hole over and over again, then he's free to shove his face into the space between neck and shoulder and up to the thin patch of skin behind Joe's ear that smells hot and eager, free to place his open mouth over it and suck there until purple bruises surely form however temporarily.

Around his cock, Joe clenches in aching spasms. Makes these vulnerable little noises on each squeeze down, as if Nicky's both hurting him and devastating him in the best of ways. His palms press to the back of Nicky's neck, keeping him put, fingers inching beneath his collar where the skin is perpetually chafed. As much as it has him almost drooling just thinking about keeping Joe's cock safe and warm inside his mouth and throat for hours, or Joe's wet lips and tongue pressed to Nicky's hole, it's this this _this_ which has him desperate. Being contained and surrounded and _claiming_ and being _claimed_.

His hips snap forward to pound on that sweet spot that has Joe mewling and panting in equal measure, has his head tossing back against the bed, tendons in his neck standing out. Like this, sweating into the sheets and leaking pre-come, his body running hot as if a fever's about to consume it, he's _everything_.

Nicky bites down, and Joe mewls pathetically in his ear, legs tightening around his waist, heel bouncing off the back of his thigh. Between them, Nicky can feel sudden wetness, his drooling cock coming up their bellies and chests. The scent is sharp and rich, and if Nicky weren't already balls-deep and leaking pre-come inside him it would be enough to completely get him from zero to sixty.

He does stop his thrusts. Joe's come twice in a short amount of time and he must be too sensitive. The part of him which wants to fuck his come inside him all the fucking time is urging him to keep at it, to never stop, but first and foremost comes Joe, so he doesn't, stills while panting harshly, a little desperately.

But it's Joe's voice, wrecked and deep, saying, "Keep going," that wills him on, dries up his own words.

As he takes up his thrusts once more, the firm snaps of his hips turn to rough grinds inside, barely leaving Joe's body. He runs his palms up and down his thighs, gentling him as he shudders and trembles beneath him, but Joe never complains or asks to stop, merely fingers at the underside of his collar and breathes air deeply into his chest. He fucks him like that for minutes on end, falling deeper, dizzy with the scents of sex and Joe, _fuck_.

Watching Joe's glassy eyes flutter closed makes him bow his head and dig his knees into the mattress in search of the leverage he needs to go harder. Beneath him, Joe is making sharp, broken sounds as his hole squeezes around him. He can't shove himself deeper than he already is, which is fine because on the next clench down Joe milks his come out of him just right. He feels his teeth clench, his spine arch. Fills him so fucking good his mind whirls with it. Joe tosses his head back and cants his hips forward, and _accepts_ it, all of him. Nicky can't think of a single instant when he hasn't.

Jerking his come out of him so messily and so perfectly means Joe's expectantly exhausted under him. All Nicky wants even as he's panting for breath is to make it sloppy, sloppier, dirty him up. Considers eating him out, but, the way Nicky is (desperate to put his mouth to use, could go at it for _hours_ ) and the way Joe is (surely overwhelmingly sensitive) means it can wait for later.

The wolf isn't sleepy yet, though Nicky is. The low-level satisfaction of Joe's body isn't enough as long as there's an entire garden and yard outside the wolf hasn't claimed as its own in recent memory. As long as there's space, the wolf will want it, need it. It may need Joe's teeth later as well, just in case, although having scented every nook and cranny of this house too many times to count in the years they've been here means the odds are in favour of the wolf quieting down with less effort than usual.

Joe knows all of this. "Babe, you want to go?" Nicky nods into his neck, licks at the sweat there.

Pulling out carefully, he can feel his come sloshing around, dripping out. Immediately wants to push it back in. Needs to know he's deep, still. But... _later_. There's time. Joe merely sighs, but he clutches at Nicky's collar for a moment longer, comforting.

Approached backwards or sideways by anyone else, as they should, and the wolf would snap its teeth in satisfaction, but with Joe, even if Nicky were to tell him to look upon him indirectly all he'd want, all the wolf would crave, is to show its belly. He changes right there, in the middle of their bedroom, Joe's eyes on him.

The wolf waits patiently for Joe to dress himself before he's ready to open the front door and lead him outside. Once he's presented with an opening, the wolf charges and leaps.

Like this, free to roam, free to sink his paws into rich, dark earth, he feels all too real. It's as if there's no such thing as the rest of the world. As if the people outside, normal people living their normal lives, are but myths and fairy tales. A fiction the wolf snarls to itself.

After, bone-deep satisfied finally, he stretches his legs and allows Joe to lead him to bed. To bury them beneath blankets. Wants Joe around him in sleep. To contain him.

He _does_.

*

Outside, the world is still oval, rain-drenched and grey. It can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> WELL THEN *crawls away*
> 
> Kudos and comments greatly appreciated as I am floundering.
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
